When Pastor David Ibiyeomie recently proclaimed that “Jesus hates poverty” and “never visited a poor person,” it stirred not only the usual storm of debate on Nigerian social media but a deeper theological and moral dilemma about the prosperity gospel’s hold on the modern church. His bold assertion, captured in a trending video, claims that Jesus deliberately avoided the poor and that poverty, in itself, is a spiritual failure — a sign that someone doesn’t understand the fullness of Christ’s redemption.
Let’s pause.
This isn’t just a controversial take — it’s a distortion. And more than that, it’s a dangerous one.
To say Jesus “hates poverty” is one thing — but to suggest He “hates people who are poor”? That’s a slippery slope into spiritual elitism. It’s also a sharp contradiction of the very foundation of Christ’s life and teachings. Jesus was born into modest circumstances. His first bed was a manger. He walked among the marginalized. He fed the hungry. He praised the widow who gave her last coin. He began His most famous sermon with the words, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” He didn’t just tolerate the poor — He uplifted them, touched them, dignified them.
So where exactly does the idea come from that poverty is incompatible with Christianity?
Welcome to the world of prosperity theology — a doctrine that promises material wealth and financial breakthrough as proof of faith. It’s a seductive message, especially in a country like Nigeria, where economic hardship is the daily reality for millions. In a place where the average person is looking for hope, assurance, and a way out, prosperity preaching offers a quick formula: faith + tithing = riches.
But here’s the problem: when you reduce the gospel to a money-back guarantee, you turn faith into a transaction. You create a theology where being poor is not just unfortunate — it’s offensive. You frame struggle as spiritual incompetence. And you leave behind the very people Jesus came to serve.
Jesus didn’t equate poverty with failure. He didn’t avoid poor people’s homes — He made His home among the poor. If anything, His discomfort was with the wealthy elite who clung to riches while neglecting justice and mercy. His challenge to the rich young ruler — “sell all you have and give to the poor” — wasn’t an endorsement of lack, but a call to freedom from materialism.
What’s even more troubling is how this kind of rhetoric erodes empathy. When a preacher says “Jesus hates poor people,” it doesn’t just twist theology — it hardens hearts. It teaches congregants to look down on the less fortunate, to measure spirituality by bank accounts, and to forget the countless biblical mandates to care for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with aspiring to financial stability. God is not glorified in unnecessary suffering. But wealth was never meant to be the ultimate sign of divine approval. Character, compassion, humility, service — these are the markers of spiritual maturity. Not how many properties you own or how expensive your car is.
Yes, we should challenge the systems that keep people in generational poverty. Yes, faith can be a catalyst for transformation. But when we start using scripture to shame the poor and glorify only the rich, we’ve lost the plot.
In a nation where people are crying out for hope, the church’s message should be one of grace, justice, and empowerment — not guilt, shame, and performance.
Jesus didn’t promise that following Him would make you rich. He promised it would make you whole.
And that’s the gospel.
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